The Watcher
by JackieC
Summary: After the events at the end of HBP, Draco Malfoy is hiding at Spinner's End, alone and afraid of what is to come. But he is being watched...
1. Watched

It kept creeping back. The cold, irrational feeling that made the hair stand up on his neck. The itching, unmistakable sensation of being watched.

_Impossible_, Draco thought. He was alone, nothing but the dust and dirt of Snape's dingy house to keep him company. Even Pettigrew had fled, the spineless vermin. This was what happened, apparently, when you pissed off nearly the entire wizarding world. People left you alone. _Alone_.

But still, that nagging itch, like someone was peering at him through the high tinted windows of Snape's hovel. He looked up from his position on the couch, squinting through the meager light for any sign of the watcher. Nothing. Draco sighed. He closed his eyes again, recalling the words of the meditative chant Snape had taught him before he left. The words formed in his mind, and Draco opened his mouth to speak them aloud.

_Crack_.

His eyes flew open. "Professor!"

Snape fairly tumbled into the room, apparating, from the look and smell of it, from a Muggle slaughterhouse. He reached a hand out blindly for support, muttering curses.

Draco untangled himself from his blankets and rushed to Snape's side. He supported him the short distance to the couch, dropped him onto it, and stood back. His nose twitched and wrinkled at the foul odor. "Alright?" he asked tentatively.

Snape stared at his former student, his eyes hooded. "No," he responded shortly, and leaned into the cushions of the couch. "In my study, the green flask on the desk."

Draco nodded and rushed to Snape's study. The room was in utter disarray, since Draco had fallen a bit behind in his responsiblity for maintaining it, but Draco spotted the flask quickly nonetheless. He hurried back to Snape, unstoppering the flask on the way. "Here," he said, thrusting it into the professor's hand. Snape took it and drank greedily. He didn't seem concerned about overdosing.

Finally, Snape finished, coughing, and let the empty flask fall to the floor. "It's over," he said harshly, and watched Draco for a response.

"Over?"

"Yes. Potter's done it." He laughed, a terrible barking sound not much different from his cough. It occurred to Draco that he'd never heard Snape laugh before.

"What has he done?" he asked. But he knew.

"The Dark Lord is gone. Dead. Brought down by a teenager with a gun like some common --" Snape seemed to struggle for the word. "Muggle," he finished lamely, and Draco looked at him curoiusly.

"Gun?" he asked. His cheeks flushed as Snape gave him a withering look.

"A Muggle artifact," the professor explained. "It launches projectiles, like a slingshot, but with tremendous force."

Realization dawned in Draco, and he felt his cheeks heat again in shame. For all he'd been taught to hate and scorn all things Muggle, they'd managed the one thing no wizard in all his power and might could: the means to destroy Voldemort. He started.

"Draco?" Snape was looking at him oddly.

Draco stared back, mouth gaping.

The professor started to push himself up off the couch, concern written across his tired face. "Draco," he repeated, more slowly.

Draco waved him away impatiently. "No, no, I'm fine, sit down." He glared at his one-time mentor. "I just had a thought," he said bitterly. Snape settled back onto the couch, but his expression remained perplexed. "Voldemort--" Draco broke off, grimacing. The name failed to bring the fear it had only moments before. He felt instead a wave of revulsion, a disgust so profound it was biting. "Voldemort threatened to murder all the Muggles and rule the world, and here they were, just sitting on the means to finish him." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Leave it to Harry bloody Potter to find the most humiliating way to crush evil."

Snape's lips curled into a small, bittwersweet smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Indeed," he replied.

Silence descended over them, then, comfortable after the awkward exchange it followed. Snape drifted off to sleep some hour later, and Draco was just feeling his eyelids start to droop when he felt the familiar itching between his shoulders again. He stole a glance over his shoulder at the door, and this time he was sure he saw a flicker of something at the grimy window. His hand dipped into his robes, reaching instinctively for the wand hidden in their folds.

"Draco," Snape mumbled, waking at the shifting of the couch as Draco left it.

"Shhh." Draco crept forward, his wand now clenched tightly in his fist. "There, at the door window." He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat. "Something's been watching me," he whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape responded, and Draco heard the professor shuffling toward him. "There's no one--"

"I saw him," Draco interrupted. He stopped at the door and put one hand on the knob, raising the other with his wand, ready to curse whatever waited at the door. He felt suddenly ridiculous. Voldemort was dead and gone, vanquished by none other, of course, than the Boy Wonder. And here Draco stood quivering at the door of his disgraced professor's hovel, waiting to hex what would likely turn out to be a bloody owl or pigeon. He lowered his wand, just a little.

The door gave a sudden loud creak, then exploded inward, throwing a stunned Draco halfway across the room with the force of the explosion. He landed painfully on his arse and skidded, somehow, all the way to the couch Snape had just vacated. _Snape_, he thought suddenly, and sought out the professor in a panic.

"Forget it, Malfoy," an angry voice hissed, and Draco shut his eyes tightly against the familiar pressure of a wooden point against his temple. "You're finished."

Unseen bonds wound themselves around Draco, effectively binding him to the couch he rested against. He kept his eyes clenched shut. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt a rough hand clamp over it.

"Shut up!" the angry voice shouted, and now Draco recognized it. He'd know that voice anywhere, when it was raised in anger against him. He bit viciously at the hand. His attacker screamed and knocked him hard against the head with his wand, but the hand retreated. Draco opened his eyes.

The Saviour of the Wizarding World knelt across from him, swearing and nursing the bloody wound Draco had just inflicted. Despite the circumstances, Draco couldn't hold back a smirk. "So finish me," he said, his voice low and challenging.

Potter shook his head. "No. Not like that. You're going to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Draco asked, confused. Potter didn't answer, and Draco looked around the room, a cold fear settling in his stomach. "Where's Snape?" he demanded.

It was Potter's turn to smirk. He looked at something beyond Draco's shoulder. Draco strained against his bond's to follow his gaze. "You mean Ron?"

And sure enough, Ron Weasley glided into view, his lanky frame spilling out of ill-fitting, and very bloody, robes. Draco paled. "Wanker," was all Weasley said, and stood at Potter's side, arms folded severely across his chest. He must have practiced being Snape extensively.

"What--" Draco sputtered. "How long?" He stopped, bit his lip, and gazed fearfully at the men before him. "Where is he, really?"

"Azkaban," Potter answered. "He gave you up, you know," he continued. His voice softened, just noticeably. "That oath was useless, after your mum died."

Draco choked back a sob. "My mum?"

"Sorry," Potter said, but he didn't sound as if he meant it. Draco felt a sudden terrible feeling of deja vu sweep over him, but couldn't quite place it.

"How?" He had too many questions. He wanted to close his eyes against everything that was happening, retreat back into the daze in which he'd lived for the many months since he'd fled Hogwarts. He gritted his teeth, instead, and forced himself to choose among the hundreds of things he absolutely had to know. He looked Potter in the eye. "How long have you been watching me?"

Potter shrugged. "A while. One of us has, anyway. Hermione only thought of Polyjuice a while ago, and it was harder to get our hands on than we realized."

"So you've had Snape--"

"For weeks, yeah. Bastard took forever to catch, but it was worth it. The chase. He led us right to one of the horcruxes."

Draco shook his head, baffled. "I don't understand."

"So what?" Weasley said angrily. "You don't need to." He turned to Potter. "Harry, let's go. Hermione's waiting, and Mum and Dad..." He trailed off, glaring at Draco. "Let's just take care of him already."

Draco started. "You said--" He broke off, choking. "Don't kill me," he finally managed. "I'll do what you want, I'll-- Please..."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Potter said tiredly. "We've got to get you to Hogwarts, anyway."

Draco relaxed a bit. He spied his wand on the floor near where he'd been standing only a short while ago, before his world literally exploded around him. It looked distant and useless lying there.

Potter followed his gaze to the discarded wand and shook his head, slowly. His eyes didn't meet Draco's when he spoke again. "You won't be needing that."

Weasley, who had been digging around in the pockets of his robes, fished out something at last. It appeared to be a badge, of sorts. His nose wrinkled as he extended it out in front of him. Draco noticed, with some amusement, the image of a house-elf on it.

"Portkey," Potter stated, as if it needed saying.

Draco nodded. "To Hogwarts?" he asked tentatively. He still suspected they may murder or somehow maim him. At Potter's nod, he reached out a hand to the portkey, then paused and let his hand hover as another thought struck him. He stared at Potter. "Why go to all this trouble?" he asked quietly. "If Snape gave me up, why?"

"There was something we needed to know," Potter answered. "We had to get close to you."

"But--"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted, but Potter shushed him.

"We'll explain later. For now, Hogwarts. I think you'll find answers to most of your questions there anyway."

Draco shook his head, mystified. He voiced the final coherent question he could think of. "What's at Hogwarts?"

Potter looked at him again, brilliant green eyes piercing Draco's as the world spun and refocused itself into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Potter's words carried all that blurry distance, echoing finally off the empty corridors. "The other horcruxes."


	2. Discussion

Disclaimer: All characters and events referenced from the Harry Potter series are the property of author J.K. Rowling, her publisher, and Warner Brothers Studios.

Draco shook his head to dispel the dizziness from the portkey travel. _Other_ horcruxes? He didn't much like the implications of that.

Potter's lips tightened. Beside him, Weasley was clutching his stomach, searching the ground for something. The S.P.E.W. badge, from the looks of it. "I hate that," Potter muttered, pulling a face.

Draco snorted. "We should've apparated."

"Oh, really?" Weasley said, looking irritated. "None of us have our license, do we?"

Draco frowned. The notion of playing by "the rules" -- or those the Ministry went on about, anyway -- was something a bit foreign to him. He was used to calling on his father's name, not to mention his wicked reputation, to do and get just what he wanted. He supposed now he might have to rethink his tactics.

"I will," Potter said suddenly, breaking the silence. "When I get around to it. Things have been a bit hectic."

"Yeah," Weasley agreed. The two started down the corridor, leaving Draco to trail behind them. "S'not like you can't. You've been apparating all over the bloody place for months now."

Potter shook his head. "War's over. We all have to play by the rules now."

Draco dragged to a stop behind them. Neither boy had bothered to acknowledge him, let alone check to see if he followed. He cleared his throat, loudly, but they continued without him. He stamped a booted foot, then called out to them. "Hey Weasel! Potty!"

Weasley turned hard and fast on his heel, his face livid. His wand was at ready in his hand. Another hand reached out, grabbing his wrist, and Weasley lowered the wand a bit. Potter released the freckled wrist and stared at Draco, his expression patient.

Draco glared at them both. "I want to know what the hell's going on here," he blurted. He felt his face heat with barely contained anger. "The war's over?" he went on. "It is, really? All that, that --" He floundered to a stop, and inhaled deeply. His head cleared enough for him to continue. "You really killed Voldemort." Potter nodded. "And the Death Eaters are all rounded up and carted off to Azkaban?" Another nod. "So why am I _here_?" He indicated the corridor with a mad gesture. "Why aren't I with --" He stopped himself from saying _Snape_ or _my father_. "The others?"

Potter blinked. "You're not a Death Eater."

"I am!" Draco shouted. He felt his rage coming suddenly to a boil. His face flushed, if possible, even hotter. "I killed Dumbledore, I--"

"You didn't kill Dumbledore."

Damn Potter and his infernal patience. Draco wanted to hit him. "I did," he argued. "I had a mission. I had a mission, and I did it, I killed the stupid old fool."

He was so wrapped up in his anger, nearly blind with fury, that he missed the sudden flurry of action. He didn't realize Potter was moving until he was right on top of him, his wand leveled at Draco's throat. "Dumbledore was no fool," Potter said quietly, dangerously. His green eyes were stormy with anger. "He was brilliant. He gave his life so I could live, so _you_ could live, you stupid ungrateful brat." He tucked his wand back into his robes, looking disgusted. "And you didn't kill him. Snape did," he spat.

Draco paled. He looked down at his feet, unable to meet Potter's gaze any longer. "He-- he told you that?"

"He didn't have to," Potter answered. "I was there."

Draco nodded. Of course. Potter always had a way of popping up where he was least wanted. And he had _known_ someone else was with them that night on the tower. The second broom had alerted him. He'd just been too scared and too vulnerable, too tightly wrapped in terror to accept that the old man might have been lying to him.

Weasley still stood near the end of the hall, looking upset and impatient. "Can we go now, Harry?" he asked. "I'd really like a cup of tea, you know, and a bath and change of robes." His nose wrinkled at the sight of his robes. "I feel disgusting."

"Yeah," Potter said, still watching Draco. Draco shrank away from his gaze, and stepped into line behind Potter again as they resumed their walk through the corridor. "We're going to the Great Hall," he said, throwing a cursory glance over his shoulder. "It's kind of funny, but we just moved everything there, after Snape gave away the old Headquarters."

Draco didn't bother to try to process that. "You can't know," he said, pitching his voice so only Potter could hear.

"What's that?"

"That I'm not a Death Eater. You haven't even checked for the Mark."

Potter quirked an eyebrow. "Does having the Dark Mark make you a Death Eater?"

"Well, yes," Draco said. "It's a symbol of submission and loyalty."

They had reached the doors to the Great Hall. Potter ushered Weasley inside, then turned to Draco again. His expression was unreadable. "I saw a wizard tied and held down by some Death Eaters," he said quietly. "Voldemort burned the Dark Mark into him while he screamed for mercy." Draco winced in sympathy. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Potter asked, his eyes flicking to Draco's left arm.

Draco touched his arm gently, unable to help himself. Potter seemed to steel himself, then reached for the cuff of Draco's sleeve, pulling it back before Draco could think to stop him. His mouth fell open.

"Where?" he stammered.

Draco stared at the pale, unmarked skin of his forearm. He felt nausea creeping up into his throat and swallowed heavily to try to quell it. "Not me," he said hoarsely. "My mother. She'd never-" He bit his lip. "She'd not taken it before, during the first war."

"Not you, though?" Potter asked. He appeared genuinely confused. "I was sure you had it," he said. "At Madam Malkin's, and then in Knockturn Alley."

"No," Draco said, a bit more firmly. He looked Potter squarely in the eye. "Potter, is my mother really dead?"

Potter took a moment to answer. "Yes," he said, finally, and stared down at his feet.

Draco tried to hold back the nausea again and found he couldn't. He turned away abruptly and vomited his meager breakfast. He steadied himself with an arm against the wall, took a deep shuddering breath, and vomited again. It seemed his very heart was trying to escape through his throat.

"Malfoy," he heard, and he spat a disgusting wad of bile between his feet. Potter tried again, his voice very gentle. "Draco."

Draco pulled away from the soft touch on his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" he spat. "Don't you dare touch me!" He felt hot tears spring to his eyes. "If you've dragged me here to kill me, just get on with it," he said hotly. "You've taken everything else, _everything_, so just do it already!"

"We're not going to kill you," Potter said. His voice was still gentle, if not quite so much as before. "If I wasn't going to kill you, I'd have done it already." He gestured at the doors to the Great Hall. "I can't give you back your mum, but I can give you some answers, at least, and they're all in there."

"Horcruxes," Draco said bitterly. The tears he'd managed to hold at bay still stung his eyes. He swiped at them angrily.

"It will all make sense soon," Potter promised, and pushed through the heavy doors.

Draco followed, stepping around his mess in the corridor. He entered the Great Hall, felt the many eyes tracking his movements, and steeled himself for judgment.


	3. Revelations

**Disclaimer: All characters and events referenced from the Harry Potter series are the property of author J.K. Rowling, her publisher, and Warner Brothers Studios.**

McGonagall's was the first voice he heard. "Here we are, then." Her lips twitched almost imperceptibly as Draco approached her.

Draco faltered to a stop before her. Potter and Weasley seemed to have deserted him. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well..."

McGonagall looked at him sharply. "It's not your time to speak just yet, Malfoy." She turned to the red-haired man beside her. "Can you ensure our privacy please, Arthur?"

"Of course," the man replied, and gestured to two younger men lounging at another table nearby. The infamous Weasley twins. The two rose and followed their father across the hall, muttering charms as they went.

"Have a seat," McGonagall suggested.

Draco found an empty chair and sat, casting a look around the room. He saw a great deal of red hair; the entire Weasley family appeared to be present. The others gathered were a strange mix. Draco recognized a few of them. Mad-Eye Moody, his false eye roaming wildly, and a woman with a shock of pink hair that Draco was sure he'd seen before. Granger, of course, was perched on a table next to the she-Weasley, and Longbottom sat fidgeting nearby. A petite blond was sprawled across another table, a dreamy look on her soft features. McGonagall seemed to be the only Hogwarts staff member present, unless he counted the oaf, Hagrid, who glared at Draco from his spot at the end of the very table at which Draco sat.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Shall I repeat the question, Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco stammered, snapping to attention. Potter stood behind McGonagall now, whispering with a man who made Draco's breath catch in his throat.

"I asked," McGonagall said quietly, "if you understand the terms of your stay here, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco winced. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. His eyes didn't leave the man with Potter. "I didn't catch that."

McGonagall's expression tightened. "Mr. Malfoy, you are our guest here at Hogwarts. After your behavior at the end of term, you are quite lucky to be allowed on the grounds at all."

"Your guest?" Draco parroted back. He felt the rising anger again. "I've been dragged here against my will. How can you call me your guest?"

McGonagall lifted a thin brow. "By all rights, you should be in Azkaban. Only Potter's kind heart brings you here today."

Draco scowled. "Yes, ma'am."

The man with Potter suddenly shifted, then cleared his throat and addressed Draco directly. "You seem disturbed, Mr. Malfoy," he said calmly. "May I assume it's my presence that's unsettled you so?"

Draco inhaled sharply. How could he know?

"You've not stopped staring since you noticed me," Lupin said, smiling. _Bloody mind reader_. "Considering your recent experience with Greyback, I can't say I blame you for your unease."

"I--" Draco started, then fumbled to a stop. Potter -- no, everyone, it seemed -- was watching him curiously now. "It's just that." He paused again, breathing deeply to gather the courage to continue. "He left an impression, is all," he finished lamely. He cursed the sudden heat in his face.

"An impression?" Lupin asked gently.

Draco did not hesitate. These people were gathered to question and judge him; his actions now might very well determine whether he survived this or not. He stood, scraping the legs of his chair against the floor noisily. He removed his robes and jumper quickly, then tugged his shirt over his head. The whispers that had started quieted as the shirt hit the floor. Draco kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, unable to witness their reaction.

"God," he heard Potter whisper, too near. Draco's eyes flew open in his shock. Potter stood directly before him, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Couldn't you heal it?" he whispered.

"I tried," Draco replied harshly. "Snape tried. There's only so much magic can do, you know."

"We know," a voice piped up. Red hair; another Weasley. A series of thick scars covered the better part of his face, marring otherwise handsome features. "Pomfrey did all she could for me, and just look." He gestured at his face, which was pulled in an expression of disgust. "This is what consorting with Death Eaters gets you."

Draco swallowed heavily. He tried to pull his eyes away from that mangled face and found he couldn't.

"But," Potter started. He remained too close to Draco. "But this looks fresh. When did he do this?"

"It's charmed," Draco replied, reaching for his shirt again. "It will only heal for the wizard who cast the curse."

Potter licked his lips. "Maybe we can find--"

"He's dead," Draco interrupted. "You killed him, with your Muggle gun." Potter's jaw dropped. "My penalty," Draco explained, looking Potter directly in the eye. "For letting Snape complete the task assigned to me." He took another breath to steady himself. "He let Greyback at me and cursed the wounds to never heal. And yes," he said, glaring around the room. "It hurts. I've developed quite an affinity for Pain Relieving Potion."

"How are you alive?" Granger piped up. "Shouldn't you have died from infection or blood loss by now?"

"Snape. He did... something... to keep it pretty much as it is. The wounds won't get any worse, or better, of course, so long as he's around to refresh my charms and potions."

"But you can do the charms yourself, obviously," Potter said.

"Obviously," Draco retorted. "The potions are the problem. I can't brew them. Snape left me a generous stock." He leveled a look at McGonagall. "But they're at his house."

"We'll get them," Potter said quickly. He looked at McGonagall. "Right?"

"Whatever you wish, Potter," McGonagall responded. Her expression was subdued as she watched Draco start to pull his shirt on again. "The scars on your chest," she said quietly. "May I presume those are not from Greyback, as they appear to have healed?"

Draco tugged his shirt down around his waist, then glared at Potter. "You _may_ presume. _Those_ are a gift from the curse Potter tried to murder me with."

Everyone stilled at that, except Lupin, whose frown had deepened as he listened to Draco's account. "Draco," he said, approaching slowly. "There are two things I don't understand." He sat across from Draco at the table and motioned for the boy to sit again. "First. Why would Voldemort allow you to live, if he'd considered your mission a failure?"

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as Lupin waved a frantic hand at him. "No, no, don't answer just yet. I think I may lead us to an answer anyhow." His brow furrowed. "Secondly, why use Greyback? Why not exact his revenge himself?" He stared at Draco intently. "I think," he said softly, "that he couldn't kill you. You have, or are, something too valuable for him to have lost. Greyback could have been a choice simply because he knew you feared him so... and because he could help ensure your continuing loyalty."

Draco's breath caught. "What-- what do you mean?"

"Draco... can you tell me what, exactly, the potions are that Snape provides for you?"

He couldn't respond. The sickness from earlier returned with a vengeance. He felt his stomach clench and willed himself not to vomit again. Not here, not before all these people judging him.

"Draco?"

"No," Draco said past the terribly dryness in his throat. "I never asked. I never wanted to know." Hot tears sprang to his eyes. Draco lowered his head to the table top, burying his face in his folded arms. A terrible sensation washed over him, a feeling that everything he'd ever thought and believed had just been viciously yanked from him. Yet, still, he felt the worst was to come. He let the tears come, then, and pretended not to notice the hand that came to rest on his shaking shoulder as he cried.


	4. Memory

**Disclaimer: All characters and events referenced from the Harry Potter series are the property of author J.K. Rowling, her publisher, and Warner Brothers Studios.**

_Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, too. I'm grateful to everyone who's taken the time to do so._

* * *

Relief washed over Draco as he approached the four-poster bed that would soon be his sanctuary. He heard Potter scuffing his feet behind him and turned to glare at the intrusion. "Need something, Potter?"

"Just helping you settle."

"I'm settled. Go away." Draco dropped onto the bed and rolled, situating himself on his back. He took slow, steady breaths to help settle his stomach as he watched Potter pull up a chair beside him. "What do you think you're doing?"

Potter had the good sense, at least, to look embarrassed. "McGonagall and Lupin told me to keep an eye on you."

Draco scowled. "I doubt this is what they had in mind."

Potter flushed. "Uh-- no. Actually, this is just what they had in mind." He shifted in his chair. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

Draco shook his head, closing his eyes. His stomach was very seriously rebelling, and he'd treated his "hosts" to two rather embarrassing displays since his breakdown in the Great Hall. Madame Pomfrey had produced a thin chicken soup and crackers, but he seemed woefully unable to keep anything down. His stomach churned again at the memory.

"Urgh..."

"Need a bin?"

Draco opened his eyes to the sight of Potter searching the area frantically. "I'm fine," he said. "I don't think there's much left to come up, anyway."

Potter grimaced. "Sorry you're ill. This'd be much easier, you know, if --"

"If I weren't puking my guts out?"

"Er... Yeah, if you were feeling better, I mean."

"I need my potions," Draco said faintly. He caressed the cotton sheets with a hand that only lightly trembled. "I take them in the morning, usually, but you rather interrupted that."

"Every morning?" Potter asked sharply.

"Yes," Draco responded slowly. He watched the emotions flicker across Potter's face as he continued. "I've never really questioned it. I've not been in a position to."

Potter screwed up his face. "I understand that, Malfoy. What I _don't_ understand is your dependence on these potions Snape's been feeding you. What could be so bloody important about them?"

Draco didn't respond, but turned his face into the cool pillow. His eyes started their downward drift again.

"It's just--"

"Shut up, Potter."

"Even if you're taking Wolfsbane--"

"Argh!" Draco reached out blindly and grabbed something close -- a pillow, by his estimation -- and launched it in Potter's general direction. From the sounds of it, he hit his target.

"What the hell, Malfoy!"

"I'm sick," Draco explained tiredly. "You've kidnapped me and interrogated me, told me my mother's dead..." He swallowed past the sudden acidic burn in his throat. "Who _cares_ about the potions? Get them and give them to me. I'll probably stop hoarking on your feet." Potter remained silent. "Until then, will you please let me get some bloody rest?"

Potter licked his lips. "Wait... just..." He looked Draco in the eye. "What do you remember about Greyback's attack?"

Draco groaned. "What's this got to do with anything, Potter?"

"Just tell me."

"Nothing, really," Draco admitted. "A certain sick feeling anytime I think about him. Snape told me about the attack, and about the Dark Lord's curse."

"Hmm." Potter looked thoughtfully at Draco for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder. He must have spotted what he wanted; when he turned back to Draco, his face was set in grim resolution. He rose from his seat. "I want to show you something." He returned shortly, arms laden, and Draco's jaw dropped at what he carried.

"Where'd you get that?" he demanded. He felt his fatigue fade a bit as his curiosity peaked.

"Dumbledore," Potter said shortly, and Draco fell silent. "He left it to me. In his will. Said there were still some things he wanted to show me."

"Oh."

"It's come in handy," Potter elaborated. He crossed the room again, rummaged through a cabinet, then returned with a flask full to the brim with a swirling, silvery substance.

Draco could barely contain his awe. "Is that?"

"It's yours," Potter answered before he could finish. "We collected it from-- from that night."

Draco shook his head. He shouldn't have been surprised; Potter had a way of popping up with some incredible treasures. Glancing past Potter, he could see the Invisibility Cloak he'd so bitterly envied the past four years hanging on a peg near the door. He licked his suddenly dry lips. "I've never used a Pensieve," he admitted, avoiding Potter's eyes.

"It's easy enough. Here." He extracted the memory from the flask, and Draco watched, fascinated, as it joined the swirling mass inside the Pensieve. "Just follow my lead."

"Okay."

Potter leaned over the Pensieve. Draco mimicked him, going so far as to clamber out of bed to get a better look. "Just... lean in," Potter instructed, and Draco did.

It was better, Draco realized abruptly, if he closed his eyes against the dizzying plummet from the pull of the Pensieve. He was reminded of the Portkey travel earlier and grimaced as his stomach revolted. His feet found substance below them, and Draco leaned forward, coughing and retching, but his stomach had apparently already emptied.

He glanced up to see Potter eyeing him strangely. "I think you might have just--"

Draco heard no more; something beyond Potter caught his attention and held it. "That's me," he breathed. His other self... not _other_, he scolded himself, but a past version of himself. _Past-Draco, then_, he decided. He was, or had been, at any rate, standing at the business end of Potter's wand, white-faced and quivering with fury.

"Get out of my house," past-Draco spat. He sneered at the wand that poked his chin.

"Lower the wards," past-Potter returned coldly, and Draco suppressed a shiver. Past-Potter was angry.

"Fuck _off_."

"Harry," a female voice urged, and Draco spotted the pink-haired witch from the Great Hall. "We're running out of time."

"I know, Tonks." _Tonks!_ Draco thought with a start. The name struck a familiar chord. "Malfoy's just about to let them in."

"I'm not letting them in!" past-Draco shouted.

"Why not?" past-Potter sneered. "That's your specialty, right? 'Cause you're not good for much anything else, are you?"

"Lower the wards, Draco."

Draco's neck cracked as he whipped his head around. There. She stood so tall and so beautiful, her wand grasped tightly in a fist. "Mother," he whispered, and didn't shrug off Potter as he touched his shoulder.

His mother -- he could not dub her past-Mother, he just couldn't -- leveled a cool gaze on past-Potter. "We'll do as you say," she said, "in exchange for a favor."

"Mother!" past-Draco protested.

"We have something they want," his mother continued, her serenity unbroken. "Both sides. Let's leave them to fight each other over it." She left past-Draco sputtering and returned her attention to past-Potter. "We're leaving," she announced. "Once the wards are dropped, we're leaving, and no one will follow." Her pretty lips curved up in a smile. "That is our deal. Understood?"

Past-Potter nodded frantically. "Yes, whatever."

"Do it, Draco."

Past-Draco scowled.

"Now!"

Past-Draco straightened indignantly, opened his mouth to retort, then shut it. His shoulders slumped, and Draco recognized his own defeat. Past-Draco muttered under his breath, and with a flick of his wand, opened the door to pandemonium.

The room came alive with the sounds of many Apparitions. People appeared quite literally out of nowhere, wands ready and tempers flaring, and Draco stumbled back a step, noticing his past self doing the same.

"Mother!" past-Draco shouted.

"Upstairs," she replied sharply. She was engaged already, muttering spells and edging away from the worst of it.

Past-Draco ignored his mother's advice and pushed past a Death Eater Draco recognized. His face was badly deformed, one eye very nearly hidden in a mass of ugly, painful-looking scarring. The Death Eater didn't take well to being pushed and shoved back, hard. Draco watched himself stumble and fall heavily to the floor behind him. "Get up!" he shouted at himself.

Chaos had erupted. Everywhere he looked, Draco saw flashes of every color, curses and hexes flying every which way as the Death Eaters and Aurors battled. A vase exploded in a flash of brilliant blue light near past-Draco's head, and Draco winced as blood bloomed in a cut on past-Draco's cheek.

Draco tore his eyes from his past self, scanning the room frantically for a glimpse of his mother. He spotted her in the far corner of the room, mouth forming curse after curse as she fought off both allies and enemies.

Draco caught another, distinctively greener, flash out of the corner of his eye and whipped around to investigate. The Dark Lord himself had appeared, narrow red eyes blazing. That terrible gaze was fixed on past-Potter, who was trying to drag a semi-conscious Weasley to his feet.

Past-Potter's face twisted and set in an expression of utter hatred. His wand had appeared in his hand and was leveled at the Dark Lord, who just cackled.

"Too late," that dreadful voice said, and Draco felt a chill despite the increasing heat in the room. _Wait a minute_, his brain tried to tell him, but Draco ignored his inner voice to better focus on the showdown in the Manor.

"You will never defeat me."

Past-Potter looked furious. "I'll die trying!"

The Dark Lord smiled. "You _will die_."

"Voldemort!"

Draco's jaw nearly came unhinged in his shock.

"Won't you get what you came for?" his mother continued, picking her way through the mess toward them.

Voldemort -- it pained Draco to even think of him so -- turned his hateful gaze on Draco's mother. "You were not to interfere," he said sharply.

"And you were not to hurt us!" she retorted hotly. "I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, now you shall yours."

Draco watched in mounting horror as Voldemort wrenched himself from past-Potter and turned to his mother, his eyes blazing a red-hot fire.

_Fire_, his inner voice piped up, and Draco pushed it down. Past-Potter, for his part, was digging in the pocket of his robes for something, his determined expression firmly set.

"I thought I'd spare you, Narcissa," Voldemort said smoothly, "but I've changed my mind. You're far too fitting a sacrifice."

_Sacrifice_.

"Mother!" past-Draco wailed. Draco was horror-struck at the sight of himself, splayed on the ground at Mad-Eye Moody's feet. Blood matted his fringe and trickled down his white face.

Voldemort giggled -- _giggled_ -- and pointed his wand at the defenseless boy. "Of course, I shall make it a family affair!"

Past-Potter seized his opportunity. A sharp sound like nothing he'd ever heard filled Draco's ears, and he spun, terrified, in time to see the first bullet strike. Voldemort staggered back; whether in pain or in shock didn't matter because past-Potter kept shooting, pulling the trigger again and again until there was nothing but a dry crack. The gun fell from his limp hand.

Voldemort was down. Blood poured out of a half dozen wounds, and Draco was sure he'd never seen anything so obviously dead. His stomach churned.

"Get him!" a voice barked, and Draco remembered the room was still full of angry Aurors and Death Eaters. The room erupted, insults and curses flying as the battle resumed. His past-self was struggling to stand. Mad-Eye Moody delivered a hard kick to his side that sent him sprawling again.

"Moody, no!" Tonks' voice was stricken.

Moody growled, but stepped back to allow Draco's mother, who helped past-Draco to stand. Draco drew closer to hear what she murmured to his past-self.

"--upstairs," she said quietly, guiding past-Draco toward the stairs.

"But--"

"Listen, Draco!" his mother said sharply. "You know the guest room just past your father's study on the right?" Past-Draco nodded. "The wards don't work there. You'll be able to Apparate away. It's for emergencies... always leave a way out."

Draco realized his mother was starting to babble and stumble over her words, tears glistening in her bright eyes, but his past-self remained oblivious and simply stared as they reached the stairs.

"I'm not leaving you," past-Draco said.

"Go, Draco! The Order will help you from there."

"The Order?" Past-Draco's voice broke, and his mouth hung as he stared at his mother. "You--"

"Draco, run!" she screamed, and burst into flame.

Draco watched, sick beyond horror, as his mother's expensive robes and shining hair came alight with flame, her own face twisted into an expression of indescribable pain. Draco stood by his past-self and stared. He was frozen.

"Malfoy! Malfoy!"

Draco looked up to see past-Potter shoving his way toward the stairs with Tonks and Moody. Other Aurors followed shortly behind. "You're blocking the way, you idiot! Move!"

But he apparently couldn't. His mother was screaming now, her voice betraying her pain and terror as her skin started to blacken and peel.

Past-Potter seemed to notice her first and his face set in that determined look again. "Come on, Malfoy," he said, grabbing past-Draco's arm. "There's nothing anyone can do."

"Who?" past-Draco whispered. "Who did it?"

"Voldemort."

"He's--"

"Not dead," past-Potter finished. Draco followed the pair up the stairs, his mother's screams still in his ears. "He won't die, not with Horcruxes still, and I think he just did it again..."

A particularly loud shriek interrupted his mumbling. They were nearly to the top of the stairs, but Draco, post past and present, whirled at the sound. His mother was at the bottom of the stairs, clawing helplessly at her face. It was charred almost beyond recognition now. "Lucius!" she sobbed. "Lucius, it hurts!" Draco's insides curdled.

"Come on." Past-Potter was tugging on him. "Come on, she's not herself."

Draco watched, for only a moment, as the flames consumed his mother -- and the rest of the downstairs, it seemed, which Draco hadn't realized was burning at all.

That single moment was critical. Past-Potter pulled past-Draco, hard, and Draco watched himself stumble up the last few steps... and right into the path of a charging werewolf.

"Malfoy!" a girl's voice screamed, but for nothing. The werewolf was on him.

Greyback -- for Draco was sure it was he -- had Draco pinned beneath him. He threw back his head and howled one long, ear-splitting howl to rival the screaming from below. Past-Potter's wand was in hand and pointed at Greyback, but the spells he muttered seemed to have no effect. Greyback snarled and lunged, and Draco winced as he saw sharp teeth rip through the dark material of his past-self's robes. The material grew darker with blood.

A blur registered behind Draco and he stared, stunned, as another creature bounded past him on the stairs and launch itself at Greyback. The werewolves battled, but past-Draco would not stay to see. Tonks and Harry were pulling him gently but quickly to his feet, and the memory carried them down the hall.

"Poor Bill," he thought he heard Tonks say softly, then felt another, stronger tug pull him away.

Back in the dorm, he found himself staring still into the Pensieve, his thoughts as stormy as the memory still swirling away madly inside. He looked up at Potter, whose green eyes glistened. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

Draco sat down hard on the bed. He needed sleep. Why was Potter bothering him? Couldn't he see he needed his rest? He lay, fully clothed and still wearing his filthy boots, and burrowed his face into his pillow. After a while, he slept.


End file.
